


i'm fine, promise

by howverypeculiar



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, absent rosie watson, post s4 fix it, teeth-rotting fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 20:56:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9676550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howverypeculiar/pseuds/howverypeculiar
Summary: Sherlock doesn't like a fuss - not when he's poorly, at least.





	

“Right, Michaela was at the restaurant on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, we can rule her out - there’s a chance it could be a jealous brother, but Joe’s alibi seems pretty strong…same goes for James…dammit!!” He was annoyed and sniffed a deep lungful.

“Thought that'd be a pretty straightforward one for the great Sherlock Holmes, no?”

Bickering. On this rather damp Thursday night in central London Sherlock and John were, unsurprisingly, on a case. And, as with any case, of course, there was bickering. Sherlock’s steely vehemence and John’s disbelief in his partner’s inconceivable intellect contrasted, and more often than not it wasn’t for the better. But they both knew that without it, they’d be lost. Anyhow, they both knew how it felt.

“Yes, John!” Sherlock retorted coarsely. The two were walking with some sense of urgency back to Baker Street (or, rather, John was practically jogging trying to keep up with Sherlock’s swift strides). Sherlock usually behaved in this manner when he was fired up by something like this so John didn’t mind. Then again, there was nothing he couldn’t love about the man.

“…we know he had an affair, but the wife…could have faked the tweets, killed him, overdosed…no!! It was a man that dragged the bloody body! Now the ring - Joey pawned it, was he having an affair with Sophie?…the fridge full of meat-” *cough, cough*

John observed, still, after all this time, stunned by Sherlock’s mind.  
“-ah, but he was clever…the timings, everything. Daniel ordered the drugs and meat using Sophie’s card, then Christmas day, Daniel drugs Sophie, writes the tweets, uses old photos…yes…”

“…wraps up the meat to disguise it as a body and dies a peaceful death in the fridge: he did it himself! Sherlock - suicide!”

john was incredibly pleased with himself and his deduction. he paused in smugness, waiting for the affirmation he so loved.

Sherlock pivoted mid-pace to look at his John with pride and amazement. Although he was slightly disgruntled he didn’t solve it himself before John, he couldn’t help his pride. The way John’s silver hair matted in the rain and the glint of silver due to the moonlight made Sherlock’s heart feel inexplicably warm and melty.

Sherlock pitched himself forward haphazardly and cupped John’s jawline in both his long, pale hands. “Well done you.” He then placed a wet kiss on his forehead. Their faces being this close led john to detect the redness surrounding Sherlock’s nose. His hands found John’s shoulders and he gave his lover an affectionate, toothy smile.

~

As the door next to Speedy’s shut, coats were unbuttoned and hair was ruffled dry. Sherlock cleared his throat once; John noticed. Then again, then again, then again. It eventually got past the point of being passed off as white noise.

“You alright, love? You've gone all croaky, getting yourself a cold?” John questioned.

“Hm?”

Come on, Sherlock, John thought. Making a fuss was the opposite of what Sherlock would ever do (as everyone knows, this wasn’t always true, but in illness terms, he would never complain), and, if left up to him, he could probably act like a cyst the size of a King Edward potato was just a zit. John knew a thing or two about seeing through naivety.

“I said, are you feeling alright? Your coughing sounds like a dog barking and to my knowledge, you’re not smoking recently.” Of course, he didn’t know that for certain.

“Yes, of course. Course I'm alright. Yep! Nothing wrong with me whatsoever.”

“Right.” A pause. “You sure?”

“John. It’s all fine.”

John gave in. “Okay, if you say so.”

~

The pair stomped up the stairs as usual. And the midweek Baker Street boys’ routine ensued.

The sniffing was the main thing. And sneezing. 26 times, John had counted, and they’d only been home two hours. However, Sherlock tried to remain inconspicuous. It was a quarter past seven, and they were lying on the sofa flicking between channels. Sherlock was comfortably resting against john, using his chest as a pillow, their fingers intertwined. John saw the rise and fall of Sherlock’s chest and heard that his breathing was congested.

“What’re we doing for dinner?”

“Let’s order. Thai?”

“you can never make your mind up, how come you’re so sure tonight? Usually, you leave it up to me.”

“I fancy Thai.”

“Really?”

“Shut up. Tom yum?”

John didn’t let him agree. He got up and went through the rigmarole of phoning, ordering, greeting the delivery man. He brought it upstairs and laid it all out on plates and in bowls, got out the proper cutlery and took it to the living room, where Sherlock was still lounging lazily. However, he didn’t sit up at the smell. They tucked in. When they’d finished, Sherlock cleared up, as was their rota.

~

“Right, shower time.”

“Oh, actually I’ll go first.”

“What?”

“I’ll have a shower first. You can get in after me. I’ll be quick.”

“Why?”

“It’s alright.”

“John-“

“I’ll be 5 minutes, promise.”

Before Sherlock knew it John emerged from the bathroom in his dressing gown and slippers (both of which Sherlock adored), faced pinked and altogether looking rather clean. 

“Okay, in you go.”

“The steam.” Sherlock piped in. He grinned a smug little grin. “That’s the reason you wanted to go in first, to create vapour because you think I’ve got a cold. And you wanted me to eat spicy food to clear my sinuses out. I know these things, love.”

“Dry air irritates the membranes in the sinus, causing the symptoms of a cold to be more pronounced. And when consuming spicy foods your body will naturally loosen the mucus and phlegm that is clogging your body, and you might be able to breathe a bit better. Just thought I’d help you.”

At this point, they were both cheek-achingly smiley and decidedly in love.

“Thanks, doctor.” Sherlock winked at his lover.

“And one of those I am. It’s my responsibility to look after you, as both a doctor and a boyfriend, so go and have a shower and clear your airways. I’ll make you some tea.”

Sherlock obeyed his now-carer and floated up from the sofa. His stature and his gait were obviously hindered due to fatigue, but his smile and those gorgeous laugh-lines were enough to make John forget about the ailments. As they crossed in the doorframe their lips met and stayed there for a few seconds. 

“I love you, Dr. John Watson.”

“I love you, too.”

~

While Sherlock was getting clean, John fulfilled his duties and got on with tea-making. He placed a lemon (that looked a bit old, let’s be honest, but the thought was there) onto their only chopping board that wasn’t occupied with some manner of parts and sliced it thickly. He put the pieces into a teacup and added a teabag. Out of the cupboard, he then procured a jar of honey - Sherlock’s favourite thing - and spooned a large blob into the cup. The kettle was flicked on, and, as if on cue, out of the bathroom came Sherlock, scrubbing at his inextricably curly hair, sniffling all the while.

“Hello, you.”

“Need any help?”

“No, not from a contagious flu victim. Go and sit - doctor’s orders.” Cheeky.

After pouring, stirring and proof-tasting the tea, John delivered it to his ill counterpart.

“Ah. Thanks, sweetheart.” Sherlock gladly received the cup and John snickered with a mixture of pride and love and glee. He wandered off to make his own.

~

By 11, they’d reassumed their relax-positions and Sherlock was dosed up to high heaven with Lemsip.

“I’m knackered. Anyway, you should get to bed reasonably early.”

“Alright, then.”

They sauntered down the hallway to their bedroom - of course they didn’t need two. The door shut behind them.

As they settled in between the sheets John removed his watch while Sherlock applied lip balm. They put heads onto each of their pillows and turned to face each other. Sherlock reached for John’s hair and fingered the downy silver strands. Holding the back of his neck, he bent his own to bury his face into it and imprint it with numerous light kisses. It mildly angered him that his senses were impeded so he couldn’t breathe in the perfume of John’s shampoo. He stroked his cheek with his thumb.

“Thank you, John. Not just for tonight. For every night we’ve ever spent together. Each one has meant more than the last, because it makes me realise I’m worth spending time with. I’m an arsehole and I don’t deserve you. I love you so much.”

“You know that that’s mutual, don’t you?”

“I’ll try to believe it.”

“Well do. I love you. Night-night, darling.”

The men shared their routine goodnight-kiss, then gradually fell into slumber. Simply put, to each other, they were their light and their lives.

~

John sniffed. Then, several seconds later, he sniffed again.

“Oh, for god’s sake.”


End file.
